A Case of Victory
by SJO
Summary: Sherlock is in jail. Four people in his life come to visit him to understand why he did what he did to get there. Please read and review.


A Case of Victory

a _Sherlock _fanfic by SJO

Note: _Sherlock _is owned by the BBC and PBS, not me. This is also loosely based on original Sherlock Holmes mysteries, "A Case of Identity" and possibly "Sliver Blaze." Since both of those cases took place before "The Final Problem," I'd guess this takes place sometime during Season 2, but I'm not sure when.

Donovan's comments still resounded in his head, "I told you this would happen, didn't I?" He told her of course she had, many times. What he didn't say was he never believed her.

It was outside of his jurisdiction, so everything was processed before he could intervene. That's why he decided not to come as a policeman, no special treatment, just a friend (or colleague or whatever) visiting another. He checked in his gun and followed the other procedures. Then he was led to the visitor's area with the phone booths. He had a seat and waited. Then the guard led in the one person Gregory Lestrade was certain he would never see behind bars.

He picked up his phone receiver and said, "Why are you here, Sherlock?"

"That is actually an excellent question, Inspector," he answered. "Why _am _I here?"

"Are you saying you're innocent? You've been framed? Because I can tell you—"

"No, I'm _saying _that I'm not the one who belongs here."

"Then who does, according to you, the poor sod that you—"

"He's not a 'poor sod,' Lestrade! He's not even human; he's . . . a creature! And he deserved what he got."

Lestrade pressed his lips together and took a deep breath through his nose. "You know, not everyone shares your opinion."

"Obviously. So why are you here?"

"Right. Well, of course, I have John's testimony of the events posted on his blog, but I want to here your side of the story. And please mull over your words, take your time, and start from the beginning."

"Are you sure about that? Because it is a very lengthy story. If you want to understand what I did, you must go back a few days."

"Yes, and please keep in mind that whatever you say can either exonerate you or leave you in here to rot."

"Very well. Noted. It began Tuesday afternoon, around 2:00. We had no cases, and I was going to practice my violin when I saw a girl, about twelve years old. She was standing on the sidewalk, very agitated, pacing back and forth. She had long, tangled hair, old clothes, worn-out shoes, and a necklace of a silver carousel horse. So my initial reading was that she was homeless, orphaned, and/or mentally ill. She's not taking care of herself, wearing hand-me-downs or donated clothes, but the necklace was special to her, perhaps the last heirloom she had. Yet she had a tablet tucked under her arm. If she were homeless, such an expensive piece of technology would have been easily stolen. She couldn't have stolen it herself, or else she wouldn't linger before the flat of a well-known detective. But then she went toward the doorbell, reached out her hand to push it, and then withdrew and started to wring her hands, so it was evident that she—"

"See, this is what I'm talking about. Can we please forgo the deductions and just get to the case?"

Sherlock sighed. "Very well."

* * *

"John," Sherlock said, "open the door."

"What, is it too warm?" John asked. "I could turn down the thermostat."

"No, John, we have a client."

"Do we?" He looked out the window. "Why don't they just buzz in?"

"I've seen this behavior before. Usually it's a matter of the heart. Especially when it's a woman, she has a delicate situation to discuss, and she fears it's too embarrassing, not knowing that I don't care. That's not the case this time."

"Then what's going on?"

"She's afraid. Don't touch her, don't talk to her, don't even look at her. Just open the door." John looked like that was odd, but he walked out and followed Sherlock's instructions.

Meanwhile, Sherlock pulled up some sheet music on a website he knew, put his computer on his music stand, and started playing a song he hadn't played before, a song more modern than he was used to. It was somewhat of a challenge because it wasn't really written for the violin, but it came out a cheerful and carefree yet gentle melody. When he was done, he turned around, and as he predicted, the girl was standing in his doorway. "That's Rogers and Hammerstein, Theme from _Carousel_," he said. She was starting to look around the room. He grinned. "I thought you might like it."

He pointed to a chair with his bow. "Please, sit." She didn't right away. "John?" he whispered, and John sat down. The young lady soon followed suit. Sherlock sat as well. "I'm Sherlock. This is my friend, John. Nice to meet you." The girl looked at the floor, held the charm on her necklace and slid it around the chain, and started rocking. "No, no, no, there's no reason to get anxious. We're here to help you. We won't judge you. There's nothing you can do that will offend me. Here." He got a small box out of his desk, got something out, and held it to her. "Hold this in your hand. It helps." She took out of his palm a small pebble and started rolling it around in her palm.

"How about a cup of tea to calm your nerves?" John offered.

"I wouldn't, John. She probably takes her tea at 4:00, and we don't want to mess with her routine. Coming here is stressful enough."

"Well, maybe she'd like a biscuit or two. Come back here and help me find something." Sherlock joined him, and he whispered, "OK, what's going on? I don't think I've ever heard that tone from you. I think that's because she's a kid, but we've had clients even younger, and you haven't treated them any differently."

"I recognize the signs, John, the hand-wringing, the rocking. I'm a little surprised you haven't noticed, you being a physician and all." He whispered more softly, "I think she's on the spectrum."

"She's autistic?"

"Probably on the other end."

"Other end of what?"

"The spectrum! She's non-verbal."

"How do you know?"

"Well, if she were verbal, she would've said something by now."

"But how are we going to be able to help her if she can't talk?"

"No! John, she can't _speak_. One's inability to speak does not mean one has nothing to say. She has something to say and her own way of saying it. The tablet probably aids in her communication."

John looked like he didn't know how to respond to that, so he sat back down. When Sherlock joined him, the girl looked up and held up two fingers. "What's that, two words?"

"It's not a game of Charades, John."

"Then two what?"

"I don't think it's two."

"What else could it be? V for victory? Peace?"

He looked at her. "It's Vikki for short, isn't it?"

She looked at him a little more and put down her hand.

"It's a lovely name."

"How in the world did you know—?"

"John?"

"Alright, fine, forget it."

Sherlock looked back at the girl. "So, Vikki, how may I help you?"

She turned on her tablet and pulled up John's blog. She scrolled down and highlighted a word with her finger. She showed Sherlock the word. "Woman," he read.

"OK, that tells us a lot."

Sherlock shushed him. "Patience!"

"You're telling me to be patient?"

She scrolled and highlighted another word. "Friend," Sherlock read. Then she scrolled up and highlighted one last word. "Missing."

"Still not much to go on."

"For her, it speaks volumes, John, remember that?"

"So, who is this woman? What's her relationship to you?"

The girl shook her head and started wringing her hands again.

"Well, now look what you've done!" Sherlock said.

"What's the problem?"

"Evidently, it's a word that's not in your blog."

"Surely she can communicate in other ways."

"More than likely, yes, but this is the way she decided to communicate with us. We must respect that and be patient."

John sighed. "Who are you, and what have you done with Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked off. He wanted proof again. "You asked me a moment ago how I knew her name. I introduced us. It's only polite that she introduce herself. In sign language, the index and the middle finger held up symbolizes the letter V. She has probably been taught sign language, and those who use sign language usually use a simple sign to identify them. As you noted, V in many countries still stands for Victory. Victory is not a common female name, but Vikki is. Therefore—"

He didn't realize that the girl was rocking until she moaned rather loudly. "Well, now you did it."

"Oh, Vikki, I'm so, so sorry. You weren't able to keep up with me, right? Calm down, calm down. I'll try not to do that anymore, OK?" She slowly calmed down. He glanced over at her tablet. "John? I think I know who this woman is."

* * *

But then the buzzer sounded. A guard came in. "Sorry sir, visiting hours are over."

"I'm not done!" Sherlock said loud enough for the guard to hear.

"How much further do you have?" Lestrade asked.

"That's really only the beginning. See, this is what happens when I slow down."

"Alright. I'll come back tomorrow, and we can pick up where we left off."

Sherlock evidently didn't like it, but he nodded. Lestrade started to put up his receiver, but then he looked at the guard, flashed his badge, held up his index finger, and mouthed, "One more." The guard nodded, and he picked up his receiver again.


End file.
